Blood on the Tracks
by MaverickLover2
Summary: Even brothers as close as the Mavericks can disagree about things, especially when they're as big as a train depot..
1. Rumors

Chapter 1 – Rumors

The first time the rumor swept through town like wildfire was four or five years ago, and it had proven to be just that . . . wildfire. Twice a year the topic would get brought up in town council meetings; everyone would get worked up about the possibility for a session or two, and then the subject would once more fade from public view.

This time seemed different. The rumor didn't surface in a council meeting, nor was it discussed there. The news came straight from the governor's office, and seemed reasonably substantiated. According to the story being circulated, the route was to stretch from Dallas/Fort Worth to Waco, pass through Little Bend to Austin, then down to San Antonio before cutting eastward to Houston. The last leg was not yet decided; it could either go straight back to Dallas, completing the circuit, or eliminate the need for uncomfortable coaches and drive overland to Baton Rouge and New Orleans. The decision seemed to rest on the shoulders of the next President of the United States.

Either way, life would never be the same in Little Bend, Texas. The town had been growing steadily over the years, but the amount of sudden expansion it would most likely experience was staggering. This was just what Little Bend needed, half of the population agreed, and it would definitely destroy life as everyone there knew it, the other half wailed. Three council members resigned when the prospect of a significant conflict loomed, affording a local businessman the opening he'd been waiting for. That man was Bart Maverick, and the possibility of the railroad coming through town was as exciting an event as anyone could think of. And it presented Bart with the opportunity of a lifetime.

With three seats on the council vacant, he was practically guaranteed a spot. No longer could the town afford to turn up its nose at the prospect of a well-known gambler and saloon owner helping to guide it into the next phase of its existence. Of course, he was considered more than qualified by most of the town's population, having been born and raised in Little Bend, and currently owning one-half of what was turning into a horse-breeding ranch of some prominence. He had long since married and settled down in the town of his birth, and was father to five of the most adorable children on the planet. Bart wholeheartedly supported the railroad line passing through Little Bend, with a station built for stopovers.

It didn't hurt any that his father and brother were also prominent citizens of Little Bend. Pappy Beauregard had lived in town for over forty years, and Brother Bret was co-owner of the horse-breeding ranch. All three carried the reputation for honesty, whether in poker or any other business they were involved with. Bret, too, had married and settled permanently in Little Bend, with three children of his own. Unlike his younger brother Bart, Bret had no desire to be a member of the Little Bend Town Council. Nor did he possess an opinion on the proposed railroad stop in Little Bend; right now it was just a rumor, and one that had circulated many times before. Should the rumor turn into fact, and the proposal gain the momentum necessary to actually get the spur line built, the older brother would decide where he stood on the 'railroad in Little Bend issue.'

With each week that passed it seemed more and more likely that the spur line would indeed get built; then the question that lay with the public became 'Will there be a station in Little Bend, Texas, with a potential for a regular stop?'

That was still the question being bandied about when the candidates for the vacant council positions were due to declare. To no one's surprise, Bart filed for one of the unoccupied seats. To everyone's surprise, someone submitted Bret's name for another. When questioned about the seriousness of his bid for election, Bret just laughed and shook his head. The election itself was several weeks away; there was still plenty of time for Bret to drop out or get serious about someone's idea that both Maverick's should be council members.


	2. Bad Choices

Chapter 2 – Bad Choices

Bart Maverick had ridden into town to spend some time going over the books at Maude's, the saloon owned primarily by his mother-in-law Maude Donovan. Bart was part owner and General Manager. He usually dropped in about once a week to make sure that the checks were signed and everything else was in order. He'd been doing this for quite a while now, ever since the ranch that he and his brother had built was completed and his family had moved out of the house that was right up the street. Usually he rode in sometime during the morning, ate lunch at Sawyer's, finished his work during the late afternoon, and was home in time for supper.

Today was different, though, because there was a town council meeting at six p.m., and he was joining Bret for supper at Mamacita's before that. Bart had no idea whether Bret was running for a council position or not, but he hoped his brother would decide once and for all tonight. He didn't know who had entered Bret's name as a potential candidate but he strongly suspected Ginny Malone had gotten someone in town to submit her husband's name, and the possibility of both brothers as council members was growing with each passing day. At least if you listened to gossip on the streets it was growing.

Billy Sunday was still Bart's Daytime Manager, but Maude's had gotten so much bigger and busier that Willie Beacham, ex-bartender, was now the Bar Manager. Willie was in charge of inventory and all the bartenders, and it was Willie who kept herd on all the gossip. He and Bart were sitting at a table in the rear of the saloon, drinking coffee and catching up on all the latest, when they finally got around to discussing the town council.

"I heard it was Benny White that submitted your brother's name. He said the two of you always worked better together than separate, and the town would be real lucky to get both of you."

Bart gave that some thought before he said anything. While Benny had a point, Bart wasn't sure if Bret wanted anything to do with politics or local government. And Bret still hadn't decided whether he'd support the railroad building a station in Little Bend or not. "That's probably true if Bret's really interested in something. But he hasn't given me any indication that he wants to be involved with either the council or the railroad. And if he's not enthusiastic about either of those . . ."

"Ain't he gonna meet you for supper tonight?"

Bart pulled out his watch and looked at the time. It was almost four o'clock. "Yeah, in about thirty minutes. Maybe he'll know what he wants to do by then."

Willie shook his head and set his coffee cup back down. "I can't imagine Bret Maverick bein' at all interested in local politics, unless there's money involved in it."

That elicited a laugh from his brother. "I have to agree with you. He's just not attracted to anything that he can't see the benefit in, and some of those men on the council will drive him crazy. But it could be real helpful for him to be part of it. There's gonna be times I need an ally, and who better than my brother?"

"You think the rumors are true this time? About the railroad station, I mean."

"I was talkin' to Parker the other day, and he seems to think they are. A railroad stop in Little Bend could bring us a lot of business. Here at the saloon, I mean."

"You really think so, boss?"

Bart nodded. "I do, Willie. And I'm pretty sure Bret would be in favor of a train station, too. It'd sure make it easier to get our cross-breeds sold." Bart looked up just in time to see his brother come in through the front doors. "Here he is now. Cross your fingers, that I can get some answers."

Bret came straight back to the last table and sat down. "Willie, how's life been treatin' you?"

"Pretty good, Mister Bret, pretty good. What about yourself?"

"Not bad, for an old, semi-retired cardsharp. Brother Bart, you about ready to go eat?"

"I am, Bret. Mamacita's still alright with you?"

He nodded vigorously. "Then we can talk about this town council nonsense."

Bart exchanged an _'I told you so'_ look with Willie. Both men attempted to keep from laughing at Bret's predictability.

By the time the brothers got finished with supper, neither was laughing. For one of the few times in their lives, they totally disagreed on something both of them deemed important. Bart could see that there might be some unpleasant consequences to making Little Bend into a regular train stopover, but the potential for good far outweighed the bad. Bret, on the other hand, envisioned nothing but problems with the addition of the railway station. He couldn't see anything productive coming from a _'train stop.'_

"How can you say that?" Bart was adamant that the additional traffic in the valley could and would be beneficial. "There'll be more people here . . . people with time to kill while they wait to make a stagecoach connection, folks with money in their pockets to spend. To say nothing of the additional funds available to be used for the purchase of the finest cross-bred Arabian horses in the west. And we won't have to make ourselves crazy figurin' out how to transport 'em."

"I don't see it, Bart. Just a lot of transients cloggin' up the streets and shootin' up the night. Bet you a dollar our horse sales don't go up one bit. And Dave'll have to hire at least two more deputies. Not countin' the bar brawls somebody's gonna have to referee. It just ain't worth the aggravation." Bret had made up his mind exactly the opposite of his brother, something as rare as a spring breeze.

"I can't support this, Bart. It ain't gonna cause nothin' but pain. We don't need a train station here, it's just gonna attract the wrong kind of people. "

"I can't see that you're gonna have a lotta choice in the matter, Bret. If the railroad approves the station, it's gonna get built."

"And you think the town council is gonna go along with what the railroad wants?"

Bart nodded. "I do. They've been tryin' for years to get a spur line in here. This is their big chance to do just that."

The older brother sighed. "Then I guess I'm gonna have to be part of the whole damn thing."

"Of the railroad, Brother Bret?"

"Of the town council, Brother Bart."


	3. Different Sides of the Same Question

Chapter 3 – Different Sides of the Same Question

The town council meeting had gotten out of hand. It had gone from trying to be a reasonable discussion among men with differing views to an out and out verbal brawl. The two newest council members, Bart and Bret Maverick, sat back and listened to the steadily increasing volume of disagreement. They knew something had to be done, and done quickly, or this would descend into a physical scuffle that could only end inside a jail cell. Bret pulled out his Remington and fired a single shot into the ceiling.

The gunshot could be heard all the way to the jail. Not only did it quiet down the crowd inside the city center, it brought the sheriff running. "What's goin' on over here?"

Bret raised his gun and waved it slightly. "Only thing that was gonna shut everybody up."

"Alright, Bret, you accomplished that. Put it away."

The secretary, Jerry Branson, banged the gavel on the desk three times and all noise ceased. "Thank you, Mr. Maverick, for your quick thinking. Gentlemen, there will be no more arguing. Sheriff Parker, since you are here, I wonder if you would have any further information regarding the proposed spur railroad to run through our state?"

Dave Parker didn't look happy, being put on the spot as it were, but did his best to respond to the question. "I haven't heard anything since the original communication, Mr. Branson. All that was was a message repeated to me by the Governor's secretary, Rose Hanford. She was under the impression that the spur line running from Dallas/Fort Worth to New Orleans had been approved and the train stops were under discussion, with Little Bend being a proposed station. There's been no further word."

Within seconds of the sheriff's remarks, loud disagreement started up all over again. Mr. Branson banged his gavel, and the noise settled back down. "As you have heard, there's nothing more to discuss at this time. Our next meeting will be in four weeks, on April sixteenth, at six p.m. Hopefully we will have further information on the rail line at that time. The meeting is adjourned." The gavel banged one more time, and men began to stand and make their way to the doors. Parker walked towards the Mavericks, still seated side by side in the middle of the room.

"How did I get myself pulled into this?" Bret had just finished complaining when Dave joined them.

"You both get elected?" Parker questioned.

Dave expected a smile from Bart but got an 'upset stomach' look instead. "I thought you wanted him here?"

Bart nodded, but the look on his face remained unchanged. "I thought I did, too. Then I found out he's opposed to the train station."

"Since when?" Parker asked.

"Since now," was Bret's answer. "Stop and think, Dave. You're gonna need more deputies. There's gonna be more unsavory characters in town, more fights, more trouble. I just don't think it's a good idea."

"But the whole premise is to connect us to the modern world out there."

"He doesn't wanna be connected," Bart insisted.

"I do, but not in the ways you mean," his brother replied. "I'm doing this just to put an end to this train nonsense."

"Seriously, you really can't see the benefits the train will provide?" Bart seemed honestly perplexed by his brother's opposition to the train depot in Little Bend.

"Not a one. I can only see the same arguin' and fightin' that invaded this hall tonight. And why do we need a train station? We've gotten along just fine without one so far. Why do we hafta have one now?"

"C'mon, let's get out of here and go home. We can talk about this later. I don't know about you, but I'm worn out." Bart slapped the sheriff on the back. "Get plenty of rest now, Dave, cause when the railroad comes to Little Bend, you're gonna be real busy." Bart chuckled at the joke, but Bret grimaced.

"You two stay out of trouble, you hear?"

"Our hell-raisin' days are over, Dave. Not enough energy left to make trouble." Bart shook hands with the sheriff and followed him to the door. Bret trailed behind. They were the last ones out, save for Jerry Branson, and he locked the door behind them.

"How did the two of you like your first council meeting?" Branson asked the Mavericks.

"Does it always get that . . . volatile?" Bret questioned.

"No," Branson was quick to answer. "The railroad seems to be a hot-button issue, for some reason."

"Maybe because it's been discussed for years, but this is the first time it's looked like it might actually happen."

"Perhaps. Have a pleasant evening, gentlemen," and the secretary turned onto Front Street and walked towards his house. It was the last time anyone would see him alive.

XXXXXXXX

"When did you change your mind?" They were almost halfway home before Bart raised the subject of the railroad.

"I didn't change it. I was always leaning towards no train stop, and that excuse for a council meeting convinced me I was right."

"Excuse for a council meeting?"

"You saw how they all acted. Nobody would call anyone at that meeting civilized."

Bart pulled his horse to a halt and stared at his brother. "There was a time when nobody would have called you and me civilized, either."

Bret kept on riding. "That's just my point."

"This country's changin', Brother Bret, and if our little town doesn't change with it, it'll die."

"Not all change is good, Bart. Look at all the places that have outlawed gambling. What happens on the day you walk into Maude's and can't sit down to a game of poker, because some bright fella got it into his head that it was a good idea to outlaw the game?"

"Don't get off track, Bret. We ain't talkin' about poker, we're talkin' about a train stopover on a spur line."

"I'm not gettin' off track. A lot of things have changed in our lives, and you don't see me fightin' any of that. I just don't believe this particular change is good for either one of us, much less the whole community."

Bart urged his horse into a trot to catch up to his brother. "That means we're on different sides. It's been a long time since we didn't see eye-to-eye."

"There's no sides here, son. We just see things differently is all."

"I hope that's all it is, Pappy. I really do."


	4. The War Begins

Chapter 4 – The War Begins

Three days later Bret and Bart were working in one of the corrals with a yearling when Dave Parker rode up. They had avoided conflict by not talking about the railroad, a practice they intended to stick to for the very near future. That agreement went completely out the window when the sheriff relayed his news.

"Either one of you been in town since the meetin'?" Both shook their heads no. "You seen anybody out here at the ranch?" Again, no.

"Come on, Dave, what is it you're not tellin' us?" Bart pleaded.

"Jerry Branson's dead."

"What? When?"

"How?"

Dave dismounted and tethered his horse to the fence. "He didn't show up at the bank on Tuesday. On Wednesday they sent a clerk over to his house to see if he was alright. The clerk found him, dead as could be."

"How?" Bret asked again.

"Shot through the heart. No sign that the house was broken into, and it didn't look like there was anything missin.' Somebody went there with the sole purpose of killin' him."

"You think it's connected to the railroad?" Bart queried.

"I don't know," Dave answered quickly. "I do know that the council has called an emergency meeting for tonight at six o'clock."

"We'll be there," Bret insisted.

"How well did either of you know Branson?"

"Not well at all. He's only been Bank Manager for five or six months, and he was a little on the reserved side. Kept to himself, pretty much. I saw him once or twice in Maude's, havin' a drink at the bar all alone. Seemed like a nice enough fella."

"How about you, Bret?"

The older brother shook his head. "I didn't know him that well. I may have spoken to him once, but that's about all. He seemed . . . distant."

"Who's gonna run the meetin', Dave?" Bart was curious, to say the least.

"Probably Carey Milburn. If he can get out of the newspaper office."

"You got any more information about the railroad?"

"Yes, I do, but I ain't tellin' nobody until the meetin'. I don't care how many years we been friends." Parker aimed that remark right at Bart, but Maverick just smiled and never said a word. "Make sure you come armed."

"We will," Bret assured him.

XXXXXXXX

It was a little before five thirty when the Mavericks rode into town. The streets were mostly deserted, and the town was quiet; even Maude's had relatively little noise emanating from it. Bart stopped in at Maude's to talk to Willie and Bret headed for the council hall. The sheriff was already there, along with Carey Milburn and two or three other members. They were discussing the possibility that Jerry Branson's death was related to the building of the railroad spur; Parker was listening intently.

"Did he support a station bein' built at Little Bend?" Dave finally asked the newspaper owner.

"He was real quiet about it, but yeah, he supported a station at Little Bend. I just interviewed him for a story I was gonna run in the paper this week. Do you think that's what got him killed?" Milburn asked no one in particular.

"I don't know, Carey. It's possible. What did the story have to say?"

"Opposing viewpoints, sheriff. I wanted to let the people of Little Bend hear both sides and then they could make up their own minds. Now I'll have to find somebody else to talk to."

"You could interview my brother . . . he's for the train stop." Bret thought Bart would love to see his viewpoint in print.

"Did he come with you tonight?"

Bret nodded. "He did. He just stopped . . . never mind, here he is, now." Bart had, indeed, just walked into the council hall. Carey Millburn explained everything to Bart, who agreed to be interviewed when the proceedings were over.

Milburn called the meeting to order and turned it over to Sheriff Parker. "I'm sure you all know by now that Jerry Branson was found dead on Wednesday. As of right now we don't know when or why, but we thought it was important enough to call this meetin'. If any of you know anything at all that might help us, come down to see me at the jail."

A low murmur could be heard amongst the council members. Carey Milburn banged the gavel for order, and things quieted down again. "That being said, I do have some information about the train station. There's another town that wants the station. It's about forty miles from here, and if you don't know where I'm talkin' about, it's the town of Temple. They don't seem to have any qualms about havin' it built there instead of here, so if Little Bend decides that we want the stopover, we're gonna have to fight for it. That means when we meet again on the sixteenth of April we need to come out of that meeting with a firm 'yes' or 'no.' And if it's 'yes,' we'll have to do whatever it takes to get the governor's committee to approve Little Bend rather than Temple.

"Right now I think we need to know where we stand. Those council members that support the stopover here in Little Bend, please remain in this room. Those that don't want the station here, please adjourn to the next room, starting now. Thank you."

Bret watched the men that thought the way he did pick themselves up and go to the next room over. It looked like the council was pretty evenly split; there might have been one or two more for the train station than against it, but that was all. He got up wearily and followed them, not eager to move but determined to find out everyone's reasons for opposing the train depot.

Most of the men against the station being built in Little Bend felt the way he did . . . they saw the potential for trouble, the need for more law enforcement, more transient people of ill repute appearing in town with the ability to disrupt both supplies and services. Bret preferred town just the way it was . . . Little Bend had gotten by quite nicely and, for the most part, peacefully, all these years and he'd rather it stay that way. He and Ginny had three little ones to raise, and an influx of strangers could drastically alter their ability to do that. He noticed that most of those against the depot were farmers or ranchers; and wondered if there was any significance in that.

Bart was in the original room, where it seemed everyone was trying to talk at once. And he noticed that almost every one of the depot's supporters was a businessman of some sort; even he fell into that category. They talked about increased business and the need for new employees, and Bart could almost hear them adding up dollars when they spoke. He, too, wanted the town to grow and expand, but his sole interest wasn't increased revenues. More people meant more businesses, more opportunity for his children to make a living.

He wondered if this was what a regular council meeting was like. If it was, how did they ever get anything accomplished? He was ready to give it all up and head home . . . and then he remembered the promised interview with Carey Milburn, and he sighed. The thought of enticing someone into politics wasn't all it was supposed to be. And Bart was beginning to second guess himself as to why he'd wanted to be involved.


	5. The Scales are Balanced

Chapter 5 – The Scales are Balanced

"Mr. Milburn, I promised you an interview." Bart had caught up to Carey Milburn, who was walking back to the newspaper office.

"I'd understand if you'd rather not, Mr. Maverick." The newspaper man looked almost as worn out as the rancher did.

"I'd be happy to, if we can do it at Sawyer's." For some reason Bart was starving, and he was determined not to answer any questions on an empty stomach. Bret had already decided to head home to the ranch, and if Bart was going to be coming home later he was going to do it with a full belly.

"That sounds like a reasonable request. I'll be glad to pay for the meal, as long as you agree to call me Carey."

"I can do that. And please call me Bart." They shook hands and continued up the boardwalk, to Sawyer's. The café was packed this time of the evening and they were lucky to find the last vacant table.

"Your brother decide not to sit in on the interview?"

"I'm sure you know Bret's against the railroad station being located in Little Bend. We're tryin' to keep our feelin's about the whole thing separate."

A waitress took their order before Milburn asked, "Isn't it rather unusual that your opinions be so different? What I mean is, don't you two usually see eye-to-eye on a subject?"

"Most of the time, yes. But not on this subject, for some reason. Maybe it has to do with my still running Maude's . . . I see the difference an influx of new blood and new money can make in a town. We have businesses we've never had before, new residents to spend their money on goods and services already established in Little Bend, and more interest in city government. And that's before the railroad even stops here. For whatever reason, Bret doesn't recognize any of this."

"And what happens if the station isn't built here?"

"I guess my brother gets his point of view realized, doesn't he?"

Once their food came the conversation continued for over an hour. Bart found himself liking the newspaperman; he was easy to talk to and didn't ask any controversial questions. Milburn finally finished with, "That's about all I've got room for in this addition. Can we talk again? I'd like to know more about your reasons for gettin' into politics."

"Sure, I don't see why not. I'll be back in town next Thursday. That one may be a little later, though. I have to check in on the nighttime operations at Maude's. Is that a problem?"

Carey shook his head. "Not for me."

"Why don't we meet at Maude's at eleven o'clock. Alright with you? I'll be at the bar."

"Good enough. Thanks for your time tonight."

XXXXXXXX

Two days later the latest edition of the 'Little Bend Chronicle' was published, and Bart sent Tim Demerest to town to pick up a copy or two. He was curious to see just how his interview with Carey had turned out.

By the time Tim returned with the paper, all three of the Maverick men were at the birthing barn corral watching the latest colt parade around with his mama. His sire was Cantaro and his Dam was Pigeon, another blue roan mare Bart had picked up at auction in Abilene two years ago. Just a week old, he was already acting like he owned the place.

"Looks like you're not the only one with a fondness for blue roans," Bret remarked as Cantaro whinnied from the other corral.

"Yeah, he does seem to like them," his brother replied. "Hey, here's Tim with the paper."

For the next few minutes all four were occupied by Carey Milburn's article, titled "Southbound Spur Line: To Stop or Not to Stop." Bret finished reading first, folded the paper and remarked, "Well, at least he didn't make you sound like an idiot."

Bart was next. "That's because I'm not an idiot, Brother Bret."

"You believe what you told him, boy?" Pappy asked.

"Of course I do, Pappy. I think a train depot and a stopover would be a good thing."

"Bret?"

"Yes, Pappy?"

"How do you feel about a train station?"

Bret shook his head. "I'm against one, I told you that before."

"I thought maybe you'd changed your mind." Pappy finally folded the newspaper and tucked it under his arm. "Why don't you want a station?"

"We're fine just the way we are, Pappy. We ain't needed one so far, why should we need one now?" Bret pulled his hat down low over his eyes. He didn't want to get into this, not with Bart or Pappy or anyone else. He had the distinct impression that his opinion would not count for anything in the long run, and that the construction of the train station was only a matter of time.

"What is it you're afraid of, son?" Pappy's question cut through his thoughts.

"I ain't afraid, Pappy," Bret insisted. "I just don't see any reason why the train has to stop in Little Bend. I ain't never gonna use it. Neither will you, or Tim, or Bart, for that matter. So why should it be built?"

The colt, who hadn't yet been named, kicked up his heels and ran circles around his mother. Watching him cavort was a lot more entertaining than discussing the train station, and Bret breathed a sigh of relief. He'd like the whole controversy to simply go away, someplace where it wouldn't raise its ugly head until he was too old to care anymore. He'd spent so much of his life traveling, going here and there, that when he finally stopped moving he longed for it to stay that way. He wanted a peaceful life, just him and Ginny raising the kids, with no strangers or disturbances to upset it. And that meant people coming and going that could affect his peace and quiet; people he didn't know or care about.

It had taken him by surprise, this left turn his personality seemed to have made. He was always gregarious, as big a trickster as his brother, with a charming smile and a ready wit. Sometime in the last year he'd become quiet and introspective, content to spend his time at home with his wife and children. The bright lights seemed to have lost their hold on him, and he had no desire to deal with a lot of strangers, either here on the ranch or in town. And that's just what he anticipated encountering if the train stopped in Little Bend. How could he hope to explain what he was feeling to his brother or father when he didn't understand it himself?

Bret was broken out of his reverie by the unexpected arrival of Dave Parker, who didn't look any happier than he had the last time he'd stopped by. "What's wrong now, Dave?"

"I'm happy to see you too, Beauregard," the sheriff answered back. "Next time I have some news I'll send Jerry out to see you."

"What now?" It was Bart that asked the question, and Bart that Dave answered.

"Lamont Ferguson. You know Lamont pretty well."

Bart chuckled. "Well sure I do, Dave. Lamont's been supplyin' Maude's with whiskey for seven or eight years now. Has somethin' happened?" Bart finally got the feeling there was more bad news coming.

"Lamont's dead. Found him at that little liquor warehouse he keeps on South Street, out by the delivery wagon. From the looks of everything, he was taken by surprise."

"Shot?" Beauregard questioned.

"Nope. Throat slit. Blood everywhere. Frank found him when he got to work this mornin'." Frank was Lamont's eighteen-year-old son; he worked for his father.

Bret shook his head. "Not good, Dave. Not good."

"I'm checkin' everything, hopin' this ain't railroad related. Maude's havin' any trouble with their delivery, Bart?"

"Not a bit. Lamont had everything there right on time, like always." Bart pushed himself to remember which side of the train issue Lamont was on. Slowly it came back to him – he'd spoken to Lamont just the other night when the group had split in two. Lamont Ferguson was just like Jerry Branson . . . and Bart himself, a supporter of the train depot being built in Little Bend. Bart had two questions at the moment, and no one to ask. Who was doing the killing, and who was next?


	6. The Clean-Up

Chapter 6 – The Clean-Up

Bart rode back to town with the sheriff. He wanted to talk to Carey Milburn, and now seemed as good a time as any. The Chronicle's office was locked up, so Bart walked over to South Street and found Carey inside with Frank Ferguson.

"Frank, how are you?" Bart asked as he and Frank shook hands. "I'm real sorry about your dad, he was a good man."

"Thanks, Mr. Maverick. Pop thought a lot of you, too."

"Have you had time to think about the business? What you're gonna do with it, I mean."

"Yes, sir, I have given that some thought. I know all of dad's customers and the way he ran the business, and I'm gonna try to make it work. I'd be much obliged if you'd give me a chance to show you I can take care of Maude's supplies just like Pa did."

"I'm sure we can work it out, Frank. Let Willie know if you need anything from us. Carey, can we speak once you and Frank are finished?"

"Sure, Bart. I can meet you at the office in ten minutes. That okay with you?"

"Yep. See you there. Frank, take care of yourself."

Bart took his time returning to the newspaper offices, there was nothing much to look at until you were back on Main Street. He waited less than five minutes for Carey to show up and, after unlocking the front door, both men proceeded inside. The entire office was a mess . . . the place had been ransacked. Files strewn everywhere, the printing press turned upside down, chairs and tables broken and piled in the middle of the room. "Looks like somebody doesn't like what you're printin', Carey. Have you already seen this?"

Milburn sighed. "Yes, I was here earlier. I couldn't stand to deal with it, so I just left and locked the door behind me. Thought maybe it'd clean itself."

"Any clue about who it was?"

The newspaper editor picked a note up off his desk. It read: 'We don't need no railway station in Little Bend. Keep writing about it and you'll look like your furniture.'

"So what are you gonna do?" Bart asked

Carey didn't hesitate. "Keep writing about it."

"Takin' quite a chance there, Carey."

"The people of this town deserve to hear both sides of the story. I'm not gonna let some bully stop me from printing them. Remember I told you I wanted to talk to you again on the record? Are you still willing to let me print what you have to say?"

Bart did hesitate. He had a wife and five children to think of. And then it struck him, part of protecting them was standing up for something that would benefit the town . . . and them. "Sure, if you still wanna do that."

"I do. There's chairs in the back room that they didn't trash. Let's go get those and we can talk about the depot. Then I'll work on getting this place cleaned up."

"Carey . . . there's somethin' I gotta ask you first. Have you noticed that everyone that's been attacked is FOR the depot bein' built in Little Bend?"

Milburn headed for the back room as he talked. "I'm trying to ignore that."

"Do you think that's wise?"

"I don't know yet."

XXXXXXXX

After Bart and Dave left the B Bar M, Beauregard and his oldest son had a lengthy discussion about the depot. "Why are you so dead set against it, son?" Pappy asked Bret.

Again, Bret hesitated. "I . . . I ain't sure I know myself, Pappy. All I know is we're gonna have trouble in this valley if we have a lotta people comin' through here . . . and all I'm after is some peace and quiet. That's the best I can explain it."

"I don't understand it . . . and I don't agree with it . . . but you got every right to feel the way you feel."

Bret was surprised. Pappy usually took the 'my opinion is right' stand, but for some reason seemed almost respectful of Bret's differing viewpoint. "You're not gonna try and change my mind?"

Beauregard shook his head ever so gently. "Nope. I'm gettin' too old for that kinda nonsense. You're gonna believe what you wanna believe, anyway. I just don't wanna see you and Bart have a fallin' out over bein' on opposite sides. One of you is gonna be pleased with the outcome and the other one isn't. Can you live with that?"

A small smile appeared on Bret's face. "Won't be the first time I finished last in a two-man race."

"I didn't say it was you that was gonna lose, did I?"

"No, pappy, you didn't."

XXXXXXXX

"That's about all we can do, Bart. It's gonna take me a whole day to put the press back together, and at least everything else is cleaned up. I appreciate the help."

It had taken them most of the afternoon, but between Carey and Bart they'd managed to put the newspaper back together. Except, of course, for the printing press. That would, as he'd surmised, take Milburn the better part of a day to make it functional.

"At least you've got room to work again," Bart pointed out. "Anything missing?"

"Not that I can tell," Carey replied. "I don't think they were looking for anything . . . I think they were just trying to stop me from writing about the proposed depot."

"But why? You've been tryin' to present both sides of the argument, and I think you've been more than fair."

"I wish I knew, Bart." A sigh escaped the newspaper publisher. "But if whoever did this thinks it's going to stop me . . . "

"Be careful. You never know what the next step is."

"That sounds like good advice. I think you should keep it in mind."

"I'll do my best, Carey. Let's hope there's no more murders."


	7. My Turn

Chapter 7 – My Turn

For the next week, small groups of pro-train depot or anti-train depot groups met, usually in the council chambers. Each meeting was lively and full of discussion, but there was no more violence . . . at least none that was reported.

Doralice and Bart talked about the train depot almost every night; Doralice, like her husband, was in favor of the Little Bend location. So was one of their twins, Isabelle. She read every book she could get her hands on about travel and foreign lands and would have jumped on board a train going just about anywhere in a minute.

Their oldest daughter (by about four minutes) didn't feel the same way, however, and sided with her Uncle Bret when it came to strangers in the valley. Maudie loved the ranch and had no desire to go anywhere or have her peace and quiet shattered by people she didn't know. She and her father had always been close, but they found the issue of the railroad stopover divisive, and Maudie took to riding in the evening with Bret or Ginny rather than her father. Bart was heartbroken but honored her views, and he took to playing poker with his oldest son instead.

Bret and Ginny found themselves in a similar situation. Grace, their oldest, though younger than her cousins, nevertheless had just as independent a viewpoint. She didn't much care whether the train depot was built in Little Bend or not; in fact, she didn't care whether the train even came through the valley she called home. She just wanted everyone to stop disagreeing with each other and get along the way they usually did.

A week later, on a Saturday night, there was a break-in at Freeley's Emporium. Cam Freeley had been a vocal supporter of the depot in Little Bend, and someone wanted to make sure that support didn't continue. The store was ransacked, just like the Chronicle office, with one significant difference – Cam was in the store doing inventory when the break-in occurred. Sheriff Parker found him the next morning when the store didn't open at its usual time, and Mrs. Tilly went down to the jail and complained.

Cam was lying across the dry goods counter with his head bashed in. Mrs. Freeley was notified, and Dr. Petry rushed to her house to administer a sedative. Cam's brother Carl hurried to the store to deal with Cam's body and the mess the 'miscreant' left behind; Carl closed Freeley's until Monday morning.

Sunday afternoon Carey Milburn rode out to the B Bar M in the hopes of talking to Bret about his impressions of the murders. So far only the pro-depot people had been willing to go on record with an opinion, and Carey wanted to print the opposing viewpoint. He'd tried three or four other people and was turned down every time. He was hopeful that Bret would talk to him.

The elder Maverick had just returned from the south pasture and was eating a late lunch on the porch when Carey arrived. "I can come back when you're finished," he informed Bret as he dismounted, but Bret shook his head.

"I've had enough," he proclaimed as he set his plate down on the ground. "What can I do for you, Mr. Milburn?"

"Call me Carey," the newspaperman suggested.

"Carey it is. And I'm Bret. But what is it I can do for you?"

Milburn took a big swallow and pushed ahead. "You can answer a few questions for me, and allow me to print what you have to say."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because you're honest and kind, and because I can't find anybody else who will let me."

"You got my brother to open up to you."

"Yes, he answered every question I asked him. But Bart supports the train depot, and you don't. That's an important distinction. So far the Chronicle hasn't featured anyone that opposes the plan. I want the people of Little Bend to see both sides of the issue; I'd like to print what you have to say about it. Will you tell me why you feel the way you do?"

XXXXXXXX

The Chronicle printed its first edition nine days after the newspaper office was vandalized. The headline read "A Look at the Other Side – Differing Opinions Divide a Family." The article contained Carey's interview with Bret. Further down the front page was a smaller article – "Newspaper Offices Ransacked."

Beauregard had driven to town that morning to pick up his saddle from the livery. He'd had it repaired after he caught it on a fencepost and pulled the fender loose; he saw no reason for a new one. Once he'd gotten his saddle back he stopped by Freeley's to see how Carl was getting along at the store; Beau had been friends with Carl's father, Davis. Beauregard picked up a few small things from the Emporium, including the newest edition of the Chronicle, and decided to head home.

He forgot about the paper until he'd unloaded everything else and unhitched the horse. Then he took his purchases and the paper into the house and put everything away before quietly looking for Maude. She was napping, as she usually did at this time of day, and Beau went back to the front room of the little house and sat in his favorite chair. He put his reading glasses on and opened the paper to the front page, reading the headline and the first two paragraphs before he realized the article was about his oldest son and the proposed train depot. _'Good Lord,'_ he thought. _'These boys are bound to get themselves in trouble.'_ He kept reading and finished it, realizing that Bret had done just as good a job explaining his feelings about the depot as Bart had. The only thing that surprised him was Bret not saying anything about the interview. Then again, this was Bret, and he'd always had his own way of doing things.

Beauregard removed his glasses and pulled himself up out of his chair. He shuffled over to the front door and yanked it open. In the corral where the ponies were kept, Bret was leaning against the fence watching Bartley, all four years of him, put Ginger through her paces. "Not so fast, son," he heard his oldest call out, and Beauregard grinned, remembering when he said the same thing in the same tone of voice.

Beau started across the yard, not wanting to yell at Bret and distract him from the task at hand. When he got to the fence, Bret looked over and saw the newspaper in his hands. "Uh-oh. Let me guess . . . I'm in trouble?"

"Just wonderin' why you never told me you talked to Milburn."

"Because you'd think I was foolish."

Beauregard cleared his throat. "I may think you're a lot of things, Breton, but foolish ain't one of 'em."

"I wasn't gonna talk to him. Then I got to thinkin'. . . wasn't nobody standin' up for what I believed in . . . so, I did. I gave him all my reasons why there shouldn't be no train depot."

There was silence for just a minute, then Bret heard his father's voice. "You did a good job, son. I'm proud of ya."

"Has Bart seen the paper yet?"

"Not that I know of. Why?"

"Heaven help us when he does."


	8. Fork in the Road

Chapter 8 – Fork in the Road

"I'm gonna be home late tonight," Bart explained to Doralice as he got ready to go to town. "I need to check all the nighttime operations and make sure they're workin' right."

"Didn't you just do that?" Doralice asked what seemed to be a reasonable question.

"Nope. Haven't done a night check in six months. Don't wait up for me. I'll be home in time for breakfast." He leaned over and gave her a kiss. "Stay safe, blue-eyes. I love you."

"I love you too. You watch out for yourself, you hear?"

"Yes, ma'am. You know where I'll be if you need me for anything."

One more kiss and he was gone. Doralice was worried on days like this, lest something happen to him when he traveled back and forth to Little Bend. Of course, she was worried about him most of the time, but nighttime rides were the worst.

Maudie came running out of her bedroom. "Is daddy gone already?"

Doralice nodded. "You just missed him."

"Damn," the ten-year-old whispered under her breath. She was fortunate her mother didn't hear her, or she'd have gotten her bottom warmed. Maudie cleared her throat. "I wanted . . . I wanted to tell him I love him."

"What brought this on?" Doralice asked. Maudie and her father had been somewhat estranged ever since the whole train depot controversy surfaced.

"I just felt like I needed to," came the reply in a slightly trembling voice.

"He knows you love him, Maude."

That didn't seem to comfort the child. "I hope so, Momma. I hope so."

XXXXXXXX

The ride into Little Bend was relatively quiet, and his mind was occupied with the mental checklist that he kept of all the things he needed to verify while he was at the saloon. Make sure the roulette wheels were properly balanced, that all the dealers were conducting honest games, there was plenty of liquor behind the bar and the supply room was fully stocked, the bartenders were giving an honest pour, the girls were all happy and safe, and that Willie had nothing to worry about. That was all he could think of as he rode, but he was confident that if he'd missed anything, he'd think of it before the night was over.

Maude's was busier than usual that night, and it was closing time before Bart had gotten around to taking care of everything on his list. He was so busy finishing up at the last minute that he didn't notice the final two men out of the saloon, slick looking cowboys that were strangers to both Little Bend and Maude's. They'd been quiet and kept to themselves, nursing a bottle while watching the comings and goings in the bar. They'd only asked one question when they paid for the bottle. The older one pointed to Bart, who was checking one of the roulette wheels, and asked, "That the boss man?"

The bartender, Allen, was relatively new, but he knew the boss when he saw him. "Yes, sir, that's Mr. Maverick. We don't get to see him too often anymore. Seems like a real nice man. You need anything else, you just let me know."

When closing time came around, they finished off their bottle and headed for the doors. "You ready?" the younger one asked.

"Yep. Let's go find us a spot and do this."

Bart pitched in with clean-up, and in less than an hour the saloon was ready for another day of business. "Good job, like always, Willie. Sure glad you took the night manager job. You keep me from worrying."

"Place practically runs itself these days, boss. You headed for home now?"

Bart nodded and put his hat on. He was happy to be going home, where his bed and his wife waited for him. "Yeah, just glad I don't have to do this too much anymore. Man gets spoiled, goin' to bed at a decent hour. I'll see you next week sometime." He slapped Willie on the back and locked the doors as they headed out.

It was still dark outside, and Bart was somewhere close to half-asleep as his latest blue roan mare made her way home. He was glad that was over for another six months; it was becoming harder and harder to get everything checked and fixed in one night. Up ahead the road split into two; Bart took the left fork. About fifty yards down that part of the road a horse stood, wearing full gear but no rider. Bart took a look around but couldn't see anyone; he pulled up next to the horse and climbed down. "You out here all by yourself, boy?" he asked as he bent over to grab the chestnut's reins. Before he could straighten back up he felt the muzzle of a gun in his back.

"Stand up, Maverick." The voice was rough and uneven.

"I don't suppose this is just a robbery."

"You wish. You been awful vocal about a train depot in Little Bend. We're here to explain why it's a bad idea. Turn around and face me."

Bart did as told, and knew he was in serious trouble. The man was two or three inches taller than Maverick, and a good thirty pounds heavier. He wore a mask, of course, and it took but a minute to realize there was a second man, now right behind him. He had a sudden flash of a beating he'd endured a long time ago, in Silver Creek, Montana. Then he'd been younger and stronger; it took two men to hold him while the third pistol-whipped him. The beating almost killed him.

He felt the man behind him grab his arms and pull them behind his back . . . Bart struggled but couldn't break free. When the first blow came it almost broke his jaw, and snapped his head sharply to the right. The blows that followed were brutal and painful. They peppered his head and face, and felt like a mule kicking his stomach and kidneys. Finally, one caught him in the right temple and knocked him out.

"Stop, Hank. Ain't no sense beatin' him if he can't feel it. I'm droppin' him."

The man restraining Bart let go, and he fell like a sack of bricks. Hank took two or three well-placed kicks and was rewarded with the sound of breaking bone. "Wonder why they didn't just kill this one, too."

"I don't know, but they had their reasons. Let's get outta here."

The two men mounted the horses and disappeared behind the trees, where Hank's horse was secreted. He grabbed the bay's reins and all three horses rode out, back towards Temple.

XXXXXXXX

There was furious pounding on Bret's front door, almost an hour after sunrise. Bret and Ginny were eating breakfast, and Bret was sure that it was his brother at the door. He was surprised to find Doralice standing there, tears running down her face. "Honey, what's the matter?" She practically fell into his arms.

"It's Bart. He stayed at Maude's last night to run the six-month check, and he hasn't come home."

Bret guided her into the house. "Come over here and sit down. He probably just stayed to eat breakfast at Sawyer's. I'm sure he'll be along soon."

She shook her head, while Ginny got her a cup of coffee. "No, Bret, he promised he'd be home for breakfast. He's over two hours late. Somethin's happened to him, I just know it. You gotta go find him, please."

"Doralice . . . "

"Go, Bret," Ginny interrupted. "Bart would go lookin' for you. I'll take care of Doralice."

Bret hurried to the barn and saddled his horse. Within a few minutes he was on the road to Little Bend, looking for tracks. There were none. He was almost at the fork in the road when he spotted something on the ground up ahead. It looked like a body, and his stomach clenched. He urged his horse forward and recognized the coat the man had on when he got close enough as his brother's. He practically jumped off his horse and rushed to what appeared to be the lifeless form. Checking for a pulse, he turned Bart over and sucked his breath in. His brother looked almost like he had all those years ago, when Bret found him on the floor of his hotel room in a pool of blood.

Bret could see the slight rise and fall of the chest and knew he had to get Bart home. He picked up the limp body and managed to get his brother on the horse, then climbed up behind him in the saddle. His first instinct was to urge his horse forward and return to the ranch as fast as possible, but he knew how hard that would be on the unconscious man he was desperately holding on to. So they set off at a walk, with Bret praying the whole way that Bart wouldn't stop breathing.


	9. Found

Chapter 9 – Found

"Ginny! Doralice!" Bret yelled from the back of his horse. In mere seconds both women came running out of the house. "Ginny, go find Tim and have him saddle up and go for Simon. Doralice, help me get him down."

"He's alive?" Doralice asked in a trembling voice.

"He's alive!"

Doralice held onto Bart while Bret slid down to the ground, then between the two of them they got the injured man off the horse. "Where's his roan?" she asked.

"I don't know. Whoever did this must have taken her."

Doralice helped Bret carry Bart into the house, as Ginny came running back. "He's on his way," she informed them as she ran in the house. "Put him in our room," was an afterthought, as Ginny went to collect water and towels.

"Where did you find him?"

"Right before the fork in the road."

"Has he been awake at all?"

"Not since I found him. Help me get his coat off." Bret and Doralice, working together, got him out of his coat, then his shirt. Bret touched the ribs on the right side, and Bart flinched.

"Do you think they're broken?" his wife asked.

"Yeah, I'd say so. Ginny, come up here with that water. Let's see if we can get him cleaned up."

It didn't matter who held the towel and tried to clean off some of the dirt and blood, all three were grateful for the fact that Bart remained unconscious. By the time they finished, Simon Petry had arrived. "I think his jaw may be broken, too," Bret observed just as Simon came through the door. As soon as he saw the doctor, he asked, "Where's Tim?"

"He stayed to tell Parker," Simon explained as he got a good look at the injured man. "Good Lord, what happened?"

"We don't know. He was late comin' home and I went out to look for him. I found him right before the fork in the road."

"Has he been conscious?"

"No."

"Any reaction at all from him?"

Simon knew the answer to the question by the silence that greeted him. "Not even a moan?"

Bret shook his head. "How bad is his jaw?"

Simon looked up and confirmed Bret's worst fears. "It's broken."

"And his ribs?"

"At least two, maybe three broken on the left side. What worries me . . . " Doralice and Bret waited, holding their breath. " . . . is the fact that he hasn't woken up yet."

"It doesn't surprise me," Bret remarked. "Whoever did this beat him around the face and head . . . just like they did in Montana."

"That's not what worries me. Remember what I told you when he had amnesia?"

All too well, Bret thought. _'If he's injured like this again, it could kill him.'_ "I remember."

Simon set about the task at hand, doing a complete examination and then beginning the task of stitching the facial cuts that were too big to heal all by themselves. Doralice attempted to stay in the bedroom but Simon wouldn't let her, so Ginny and Bret took her to the kitchen, where Ginny made breakfast and insisted she eat something. Surprisingly, she was hungry. They stayed at the kitchen table and talked about the beating and its reasons over coffee.

"You think this is related to his support for the train depot?" Doralice questioned her brother-in-law.

"I don't know. The others have been murders. Why would whoever's responsible change their pattern?"

There was a knock on the door; Ginny answered it and found Dave Parker. Dave hurried in and the first words out of his mouth were, "How is he?"

Before anyone else could answer, Simon came out of the bedroom. "You can go in now, Doralice, but he's still unconscious. Hello, Dave. And in answer to your question, Bret, I won't know anything further until he wakes up." He looked around the room to make sure that Doralice was out of hearing range. "If he wakes up."

The sheriff appeared startled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I told Doralice and Bret, when Bart got hit over the head and had amnesia . . . he's in danger of not waking up, the next time it happens."

"Just how bad was he hurt, Dr. Petry?" Dave had shifted into sheriff mode.

"Broken jaw, cuts and contusions, three broken ribs, and his face is black and blue. He's gonna be down for a while."

"Can I see him?"

"Sure. Bret, you might as well go on in there, too. Ginny, do you have any . . ." Simon stopped talking as soon as Ginny handed him a cup of coffee. "Thanks."

Bret followed right on Dave Parker's heels. Bart didn't look any better than he had when Bret found him, just cleaner. His jaw was swollen and turning purple, and there were bruises and cuts all over his face. Doralice was sitting next to the bed, stroking his hair.

"Any response?" Bret inquired.

Doralice gave him a shake of the head, but nothing more. Dave and Bret pulled up chairs next to the bed, and sat down . . . to wait.


	10. Aftermath

Chapter 10 – Aftermath

By the time school was out that afternoon, Bart's condition hadn't changed. Doralice was still sitting at her husband's bedside, Bret had spent most of the day keeping himself busy on the ranch and coming inside every hour to check on Bart, and the doctor and the sheriff had returned to Little Bend. Ginny was worried about Doralice. She wouldn't eat, she wouldn't drink, she hardly moved. She just sat there and watched Bart breathe in and out. When a knock came on the front door, Ginny hurriedly closed the bedroom door before she did anything else. She was glad she had when she found Maudie standing there.

"Lily Mae said Momma's been down here all day. What's wrong, Aunt Ginny? Where is she? And where's daddy? I'm not leaving until you tell me."

"They're both here, Maudie, and everything's fine."

"I want to see them. Both of them." Stubborn, thy name is Maude.

"Maudie, honey . . . "

Maudie caught her aunt off–guard and wormed her way in, instinctively running straight to the closed door. She pushed it open and almost fell over her mother. Bart was lying on his side, with his back turned to her, and as she ran around to the far side of the bed, to stand right in front of him, she shook with fear and anxiety. She got a good look at 'poppy' and saw the man she idolized beaten to a pulp, and did the only thing she knew how to do . . . she let out a shriek, then collapsed on the floor in great, gulping sobs. It brought Ginny running, and Doralice scrambling to the far side of the bed. "I'm sorry, she snuck in past me and I couldn't catch her."

Her mother picked her up off the floor and held her not so little girl as she cried her brains out. "Wh-wh-wh-o did this to hi-hi-him?"

"We don't know, Maudie. He hasn't woken up to tell us yet."

"Doralice, Bart's eyes are open."

Doralice watched the man on the bed and murmured, "Bart." It was obvious her husband was trying to say something, and just as obvious he was in extreme pain. She shifted her daughter around in her arms and told her, "Look at your daddy, honey. He's awake and lookin' at you." Maudie tried to reach out and grab her father and Doralice pulled her hands back; if she touched him she would surely hurt him. Ginny scooped her niece up and away from the bed, while Doralice whispered gently to her husband, "Do you know who I am?"

An ever so slight nod followed. "D-d-d-d-d . . . "

"That's enough, you don't have to say it. Maudie, go get your Uncle Bret."

The child shook her head. "No. I'm not leavin' him."

"Maudie, go find Bret."

"No, momma. I ain't gonna leave daddy." Maudie had escaped from Ginny's embrace and stood defiantly at her father's bedside, refusing to move an inch out of Bart's sight.

Ginny leaned over to Doralice. "I'll go."

"No, let Maudie . . . "

"Don't be fooling yourself, Doralice. She's not gonna leave her daddy." Ginny strode out of the room, and as she reached the front door she could be heard calling for her husband. In less than five minutes Bret and Ginny were back, both of them crowding on the same side of the bed with Bart's wife and daughter. Bret looked down at Doralice. "Has he said anything? Does he know us?"

"He tried, Bret. He knows who I am, and Maudie. I don't know what else."

Doralice moved to the bed and Bret sat in the chair. Maudie dropped to her hands and knees at her father's bedside. "You gave us quite a scare, Bart. Any idea who did this to you?"

"N-n-n-n-no."

Bart tried to roll over and felt the sharp pain in his ribs. He shifted his gaze to Doralice, and she knew instinctively what he was asking her. "They're broken, handsome. Three of 'em. Simon wrapped them for the first twenty-four hours to stabilize them. And there's no sense tryin' to do much talkin', either. The jaw's broken, too." Her eyes strayed down the length of his body and watched as Maudie grasped her father's hand. Though difficult, his face managed a small smile.

"Maudie, you have to go on home now. Lily Mae will fix supper for you, but I don't want you tellin' everybody how bad your daddy's hurt. I'll be home after supper and I'll tell everybody, you hear me?"

Once again the girl shook her head. "No, I'm not leavin' daddy."

"I promise if you go home now you can come back after supper with me."

"No matter how late it is?"

"No matter how late it is."

Maudie reluctantly got to her feet and kissed her father's hand. "I love you, daddy. I'll come back after supper, momma promised me I could." Slowly and reluctantly she turned loose of her father's hand and headed for the door.

Ginny brought over a glass of water. "Bret, you better try and get some of this down him. Simon wanted him drinking as much as possible."

"Doralice, I'll hold him up and you give him some water," Bret directed as he passed the glass. "Bart, I'm gonna get behind you and pick you up. Drink as much of that as you can." Bart grimaced as Bret got him by the shoulders and raised him up high enough to swallow almost half a glass. Finished, his brother lay the injured man back down gently.

Pappy and Maude had been in Claytonville for the last three days. As soon as they got home, Tim told them what happened and all three went to Bret and Ginny's. They found Ginny in the front room with the babies. "How is he?" Pappy asked as soon as they were inside.

"Bret's in there with him now. Doralice went home about twenty minutes ago to tell her children what happened to their father. I think it'd be better if you all went in one at a time to see him."

"Go, Beauregard," Maude insisted as she settled her hand on Pappy's shoulder. "Tim will wait with me."

Pappy found his oldest son seated at the bedside of his youngest son, talking to him quietly. Bret stopped as soon as he saw Pappy and stood up, giving the chair to their father. Beauregard gauged how badly his boy had been beaten as he sat down, and it nearly broke his heart. Bart's eyes were closed, and Pappy spoke softly, "Bartley, it's your father."

"Mmmm-hmmm." Those dancing brown eyes were slow to open, and when they did Beauregard could see the pain in them.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here. Maude and me just got back from Claytonville, and we came as soon as we found out. She's waitin' to see you. Tim's out there, too." Pappy reached out and clasped Bart's hand in his. "We'll find out who did this, son. I promise you that. And we're gonna take real good care of you." Beauregard sat with his son for another few minutes, until Bart fell asleep. Then Beau stood up, bent over and kissed his boy on the forehead, the way he had when Bart was small, before turning to Bret. "You stay with him, you hear?"

Bret nodded. "I will, Pappy."


	11. Guardian Angels

Chapter 11 – Guardian Angels

Simon Petry and Dave Parker rode out to the B Bar M together the next morning, Simon to examine the beating victim and Dave to question him.

The doctor's task would prove easier than the sheriff's. For all intents and purposes, Bart was unable to speak because of the broken jaw. He'd slept much of the time since Bret had gotten him back to the house, but most of his communication was via grunts, groans, and pointing. Simon was far from displeased with the small amount of progress Bart had made in a little over twenty-four hours; he thought that his condition had stabilized sufficiently that with enough help they could actually get Bart home to his own bed. To that end, Tim and two of the ranch hands came down to help carry the injured man home.

It took Simon, Dave, Bret, Tim, and the two cowboys almost an hour to get Bart from Bret's house to his own, but Simon thought the therapeutic value alone would be worth it. Doralice had everything ready for her husband's arrival, and it was debatable as to who was the most excited . . . her or Bart. Isabelle and Beauregard were promised they could come see their father once Simon and Dave were finished, and Maudie snuck into the bedroom and wouldn't leave; she insisted on clinging to her daddy's hand again. Doralice was willing to put up with anything that kept the peace.

There was still quite a bit of pain, as evidenced by the fact that Bart took a significant dose of laudanum to help make it bearable. Once Simon had him settled in bed, he allowed Dave to start asking questions. The sheriff had to explain to Maudie that she had to leave and come back when he was finished, and she was more willing to accept the pronouncement from him than she would have been from her mother.

Bret was allowed to stay, along with Doralice, and Dave began his questioning. "How did they get hold of you? Did they use some kind of decoy to get you to stop?"

"Uh-huh," Bart managed.

"Man or horse?"

Bart held up two fingers.

"A horse? With gear?"

A slight nod of the head answered that one.

"And they jumped you when you got down for the horse? Were there more than two?"

"Uh-uh."

"Did you hear anything that might tell us who they were or where they were from?" Dave was hoping against hope to get some kind of a clue to help him; he knew he wasn't gonna get a description for a while.

"Uh-uh."

"Alright, Bart, I'll be back out in a couple days to see if you can give me a description of one or both of them. Until then, you just rest and take it easy."

Dave and Simon walked out together. "You think he'll still need that stuff in a couple days, Doc?" Dave was referring to the laudanum.

"Knowing Bart the way I do, my answer would be yes, he'll need it but he won't take it."

"And when do you think he'll be able to speak?"

"This is a guess . . . at best. A week at least."

Then the sheriff asked the question that had been on both of their minds. "Is he gonna be well enough to attend the council meetin' on the sixteenth? His vote is gonna be needed."

Simon gave it some thought before answering. "Probably. It all depends on how quickly his ribs heal. He'll still be havin' trouble with his jaw, but he should be able to get up and walk by then."

As soon as the sheriff and the doctor left, Maudie tried to slip into her parents' bedroom. Doralice stopped her and took the three oldest into the girl's room to explain what had happened to their father. She didn't want Belle and Beauregard to suffer the same kind of distress that Maudie had suffered when she saw Bart with no warning or preparation.

"Your daddy was on his way home from Maude's when he was attacked by two men. We don't know who they were because Daddy's jaw was broken and he can't talk right now. Three of his ribs were broken, too, so you have to be very careful and not hurt his belly. It's gonna be four to six weeks for his jaw to heal, and about that long for his ribs. We have to be very careful where we touch him, and how we touch him. No jumping on the bed or jumping on daddy, and you have to be very gentle with your kisses.

"Daddy doesn't look like daddy right now, but I promise you that's daddy. Just remember that he loves you, and it won't be long before he looks like himself again. Alright, are we ready?" Three little heads bobbed up and down; she'd done the best she could to explain it to them. Doralice was hoping that Beauregard would stay calm and settled, not wanting to embarrass himself around his sisters. She stood up and took hold of Maudie and Belle, expecting that Beau would latch on to one of his sisters. He did just that, grabbing Belle's hand; the four of them walked into the bedroom.

Bart was lying on his side, much the way he was the first time Maudie saw him. Doralice took the children around to the far side of the bed, gripping their hands tightly. Maudie, of course, knew exactly what to expect; Belle took one look at her 'poppy' and began crying quietly. Beauregard simply couldn't breathe. "They wanted to see you," Doralice told her husband. "They wouldn't take no for an answer."

Maudie shook free of her mother and took her father's hand, as she had the first time she saw him. Belle, still holding tightly onto her little brother, leaned over as far as she could and tenderly kissed her father's forehead. Beauregard just stood and stared.

"We love you, daddy," Maudie made sure that Bart heard her.

"Hurry and get well," Belle added between her tears.

Beauregard, never lost for words, hadn't made a sound. Finally, he croaked out, "Pappy" as a single tear made its way down his cheek.

"Come on, children, let's let daddy go back to sleep." Doralice tried to get them to leave the room with her; none of the three budged.

"Can't we stay for a while, Momma?" Belle asked.

"We won't touch Pa, we promise," Maudie added.

"Please," Beauregard pleaded.

Doralice looked at her husband. "Is it alright with you?"

"Uh-huh," was all Bart could manage.

"Alright," their momma replied, "Just remember not to touch daddy. I'll be back in a few minutes, and you have to leave when I come get you. Agreed?"

Once again, three little heads bobbed up and down. Once Doralice was gone, the three children gathered around Bart's bedside. Maudie was the first to speak. "Daddy, we don't want you to get hurt again. We think it would be better if you weren't part of the town council. Then you'd be safe."

"Won't you do it for us?" Belle asked.

"Please," came from Beauregard again.

Doralice still had Breton and Lily to take care of, and it was almost twenty minutes before she could get back to retrieve her three oldest from their father's bedside. When she returned to get them, she found all three fast asleep on the floor next to the bed. She leaned over and whispered to her husband, "You have three bodyguards." He managed a slight smile, secure in the knowledge that, at least while they were there, he was safe from any further harm.


	12. Deadlocked

Chapter 12 – Deadlocked

Simon Petry's guess about how long it would take before Bart could speak wasn't quite right. A mere five days after the unprovoked attack, Bart was able to talk well enough to be understood, and Doralice sent for Dave Parker.

When Dave got to the ranch he was surprised to find Bart sitting up in bed, reading the latest edition of the Chronicle. The attack on Bart was the front page story, but the upcoming vote on the proposed depot took up as much space, if not more.

"Well, partner, you look a whole lot better than you did the last time I was here."

"I'm sure," Bart managed, and Dave grinned.

"Soundin' pretty good there."

"Long as you can understand me."

"Not bad for a man whose jaw was broken five days ago."

"Questions?"

Dave nodded. "Yep, I've got 'em. You feelin' up to try and answer?"

"Sure."

"You indicated there were two men. Did you get a look at them?"

"One."

"The one that did the damage?"

"Yep."

"Bigger than you?"

"Yep."

"Taller?" Dave asked.

"Yep."

"Heavier?"

"Yep."

"How much? Twenty, thirty pounds?"

"Yep."

"Anybody you recognized?"

"Nope."

"Hair color?" Bart pointed at his head. "Brown, like yours?"

"Yep."

"He wore a mask?"

"Yep."

"Anything else that would distinguish him?"

"Blue eyes."

"Blue like Doralice's?"

"Darker."

"Blue eyes darker than your wife's."

Bart nodded the answer to that one. Talking was taking a lot out of him, and Parker still had a lot of questions. "Rest."

"You need to rest for a while? I can manage that." Dave stood up and headed for the bedroom door. "I'm goin' to see if your wife has any coffee out there. You want anything?"

Bart shook his head again.

Parker walked out into the kitchen to find Doralice and Lily Mae fairly well-occupied with the preparation of lunch. "Doralice, do you have any leftover coffee?"

She smiled at the sheriff and shook her head. "No, Dave, but I've got a fresh pot just brewed. Here, give me your cup." As she poured the coffee she hummed.

"You're in a good mood."

"Why shouldn't I be? My husband's gettin' better. And he's doin' a pretty good job of talkin', too."

"He was lucky, you know? They could have just as easily killed him, like they did the others."

Doralice looked up from the sandwich she was making. "So you think it's the same group of men?"

"Responsible for all the murders? Yeah, I do. I got the feelin' they're not here in Little Bend, either. I think they're from Temple. I'm hopin' Bart can give me some more information about 'em."

"I wouldn't count on too much, Dave. I got the feelin' he didn't see much."

"I gotta try, Doralice. I'm goin' back in now, to see how he's doin'. I promise not to push him too hard."

"Thanks."

Bart had fallen asleep but stirred slightly when Parker sat back down. The sheriff was content to wait a few more minutes, and before too long the injured man was once again awake. "You with me, partner?"

"Yep," came the familiar reply.

They went on like that, back and forth with the questions and the short answers, for another hour. Finally, Parker came to the conclusion that he'd gotten every bit of information out of the injured man as he was going to get. "Well, Bart, I think that's about all. I have to be honest, you haven't given me much to go on. But I didn't figure you had a lot of answers to begin with. The vote's in another ten days. You gonna make it to the council meetin'?"

"I'll be there."

The sheriff stood and headed for the door. "I'll let you know if I find out anything. Keep gettin' well, would ya?"

"Sure."

XXXXXXXX

The next ten days were relatively quiet. No more murders or beatings and the Chronicle's next headline left everyone thinking that sentiment about a train depot had swung towards rejection of the proposal. The night of the vote, April sixteenth, Bret pulled the buggy up to the front door. He and Tim were there to help Bart get from the bed to the buggy, and between the three of them, they did a damn fine job. Bret took his time on the road to Little Bend, and the ride was easier than either Maverick had expected it to be.

The council chambers were full, but as soon as the Mavericks were spotted, several members stood and gave up their seats. Simon Petry and Dave Parker helped Bret get Bart seated and then returned to their chairs. Carey Milburn banged the gavel down and the meeting was called to order.

There was still much debate back and forth about the train depot. When the vote was finally taken, nothing had changed. The council was still deadlocked, fifteen for the depot and fifteen against. Carey called for another meeting on April seventeenth, with a final vote following the meeting. That vote had to determine which way the town was going to go . . . the governor's office had pushed decision date back to April eighteenth, but they were willing to go no further. If the count remained deadlocked, the depot would be built in the town of Temple. Whether the residents of Little Bend liked it or not.


	13. Consequences

Chapter 13 – Consequences

"Bart, where in the world do you think you're going?" It was Doralice that asked the question.

"I'm goin' to town, blue-eyes, and I won't be back until the council meetin's over." Bart grimaced as he slipped his left arm into his coat. He could stand the pain in his ribs as long as he didn't have to raise his arms too far, but it was almost too much to bear when he put on a coat. Still, he needed to look respectable if he was going to try and talk some sense into the council members that had voted 'no' on the train depot.

"Come here," she encouraged him, and when he came over to her, she reached up and tied his tie for him.

"I have to do this, Doralice. If I don't, whoever attacked me wins."

"I know. Do you want me to go with you, to drive you?"

He shook his head carefully. His jaw, though not as painful as before, still hurt when he moved too fast. "Now that would be a waste. It's bad enough I have to go in. You stay here for the babies." He reached for his cane and made his way carefully out of the room. "Coffee ready?" he asked as he got to the kitchen.

"Of course," Lily Mae answered him. "Why don't you let Tim drive you in? There's no sense in painin' yourself when you don't have to."

"Now there's an idea I can live with. Where is he this mornin'?"

"I'll get him," Lily volunteered, and went out the front door in search of Tim.

Bart had finished his coffee by the time Lily returned. "He's hookin' up the buggy. He'll be here in a few minutes."

He leaned over and kissed Lily on the cheek. "Thanks, mama."

Lily Mae beamed. She might not be Bart's birth mother, but she certainly felt like he was her son, all grown up. The front door opened and Tim came bounding in.

"All set, Bart. You need any help?" Tim had grown into a tall, lanky man, who thought of Bret and Bart as his older brothers and Lily Mae as his mother. Technically their manager for the breeding program, he would have done any job they asked him to. Tim had been part of the family ever since his father was killed in San Antonio while the Mavericks tried to recover their stolen horse.

"Just gettin' up in the dang buggy. Thanks for doin' this, Tim. I know you've got better things to do with your time. I'll take you to lunch at Sawyer's while we're in town."

"Sounds good to me. Let's see what we can do about gettin' you up on the seat."

It wasn't as difficult as it had been the previous night. Before too long they'd reached Little Bend, and Bart went straight to Carey Milburn's office. Carey was just getting ready to print another edition of the Chronicle, and Bart persuaded him to scrap his headline and replace it with a plea to the 'no' voters in the town. "You still feel that way, even after what was done to you?" Carey asked, and Bart nodded.

"We need that train depot, if we're ever gonna be anything more than just a dirt water town."

From there he went to see several of the council members that had voted against the depot. With each one he listened to their concerns and arguments against building the depot in Little Bend, then gave them reasons just as strong why the building should be done in their town and not in Temple. He was logical and calm in his explanations, and he really felt like he'd opened the eyes of at least one of the men.

Tim helped Bart back into the buggy and they drove up the street to Sawyers. They had a pleasant lunch, with several of the town citizens stopping at the table to check on Bart's condition, and another of the 'no' voters on the council actually wanting to hear why the depot shouldn't go to Temple, instead. When they were finished with lunch, Tim sat back with a smile on his face. "What are you grinnin' about?" Bart asked him.

"Oh, just thinkin' how lucky I was that you and Bret offered me a place to stay after my Pa got killed. I was real fortunate, and I don't know if I ever told you that before."

"What brought that on?"

"Just listenin' to you today, talkin' to the people in town that don't agree with you about the depot, yet you're polite and respectful. You two always took my feelings into account, just like I was your little brother, rather than a real stray maverick. I never did understand why you did that; I guess you was just too good-natured not to."

The Maverick-by-birth smiled as best he could. "We couldn't just leave you there all alone. And once we took you with us, you were part of us. Even Pappy thought it was a good idea."

"Yeah, Mr. Beauregard's nowhere near as disagreeable as you two have always made him out to be. You just gotta know how to approach him."

Bart paid for lunch and they headed back towards the buggy. "That's easy for you to say. He was a lot more understanding with you than he was with either one of us."

He was already up in the seat when something caught his eye, and he stopped Tim. "Go over to the sheriff's office and get Parker. And hurry."

Bart watched and waited for Tim and Dave to return. When they did get back, Bart was quick to explain himself. "See that blue roan mare tied up in front of the LB Bar? That's Sheba, the horse that disappeared when I was attacked."

"You sure?"

"No doubt at all," Bart replied. He whistled and Sheba's head came up; she tried to turn and see where the sound had come from.

Dave turned back to Tim. "Go back over to the jail and tell Jerry and Willie to meet me at the LB Bar. And stay inside until we come to get you."

Tim ran back to the jail and disappeared inside. "Stay here and stay down," Dave directed Bart before crossing the street and heading for the Little Bend Bar. He stopped and checked the blue roan, then went inside. Less than a minute later Jerry Samuels and Willie Benton came running down the boardwalk, straight into the bar.

Everything happened so quickly after that . . . one minute Bart was sitting in the buggy waiting to head home . . . he got down and took shelter behind the vehicle, just in case. There was shouting and gunshots . . . the next thing he knew a man that resembled his assailant came running out of the LB Bar, shooting behind him. He jumped on the blue roan mare and kicked her forward as the three lawmen ran out into the street . . . just as Tim opened the door of the jail and stepped onto the boardwalk.

Bart tried to yell, to tell Tim to go back inside, but he couldn't be heard over the sound of the gunfire and the noise generated by Parker and his deputies . . . and in a single second Tim cried out and collapsed to the ground. Samuels and Benton jumped on their horses and raced after the fleeing criminal, while the sheriff ran and Bart hobbled to the downed man.

Simon Petry came running out of his office with his bag in hand, saw the crumpled body lying on the boardwalk, and reached Tim just before Dave and Bart got to him. Simon gently turned Tim over, then looked from the young man to Maverick. There were no words necessary, Bart could see it in his eyes. And he held his adopted brother in his arms and wept.


	14. Alone

Chapter 14 – Alone

Bart sat slumped over in a chair in Simon Petry's exam room. His arms were folded on the exam table, and his head rested precariously on those same arms. There were tear tracks on his face, and his head was throbbing. He'd been sitting in the same position for an hour or more, ever since Parker had carried Tim's body into the office, then left immediately for the B Bar M to notify Bret and Lily Mae that the young man was gone. To say that Bart was broken hearted was an understatement. He felt a hand on his shoulder and heard Simon's voice ask, "Can I get you anything?"

"No," was all he said.

"Bret should be here soon." It was the second time Simon told him that, but so far no Bret. Bart didn't care if Bret showed up or not; nothing could assuage the guilt he felt over Tim's death. If only he hadn't come to town today; if he'd driven himself instead of having Tim drive him. If he hadn't seen the blue roan tied to the hitching post outside the Little Bend Bar; if he hadn't sent Tim for the sheriff. If Tim hadn't come out of the jail when he heard gunfire; if, if, if, if, if. None of it made him feel any better. Tim was still dead.

In the front of the office, a door opened and closed. Bart heard the low murmur of voices, then all was quiet again. Bret had finally arrived, and he joined Simon in the doctor's office. "How's he doing?"

"Not well. He blames himself ."

"And?"

Simon shook his head. "Nothing he could have done to prevent it."

"Can we take Tim home?"

"Sure. There's nothing else I have to do."

They shook hands, but before Bret left Simon told him, "Go easy on him, Bret. He's had a lot of trauma to deal with in a short period of time. This could really slow him down."

"I will, Simon. By the way, there's another vote tonight, ain't there?"

The doctor pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. "Yeah, in about another hour. You gonna stay for it?"

"No. I already talked to Carey Milburn. He's gonna allow a proxy vote due to the circumstances. I tell ya what, I don't think either one of us much cares how this all comes out right now."

There was a soft knock on the door, and it opened to reveal Dave Parker. He nodded at Bret. "You here to take 'em home?"

"Yep, I am."

"I need him over at the jail first, Bret. Jerry and Willie caught the guy on Sheba, and I need Bart to identify him."

"I don't promise anything, Dave, but I'll try."

Bret walked back to the room Tim and Bart were in and knocked. There was no answer, and he knocked again. "Go away," came a strained voice from inside.

"Can't do that," was the reply given as Bret opened the door and went inside. Bart never even raised his head. "Come on, Parker needs you at the jail."

"Why?"

"Because Jerry and Willie caught the man ridin' Sheba and he wants you to identify him."

For the first time, Bart's head came up. "They caught him? Seriously, they caught him?"

"Yeah, they caught him alright."

Bart stood and put his hat on. "Let's go." Bart walked, without the aid of his cane, and Bret followed.

Parker looked up when the office door opened and was surprised to find the Maverick Brothers standing there, so quick to respond to his plea. Bart made his way to the jail cell and stood at the cell door, while the man inside lay on his cot and never moved. Finally, Parker yelled over, "Get up, Hank."

Hank rolled over and stood up, ending up inside the cell, opposite of Bart. "KInda stupid to take my horse and ride her back into town, wasn't it?" Bart asked.

Hank shrugged his shoulders. "I guess."

Bart left the cell and took a seat by Parker's desk. "It's him."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir. I'm positive."

"Will you testify?"

Bart practically snorted. "Of course I will. Is that all you need?"

"Yeah. Are you goin' to the council meeting tonight?"

"Me? No. Let 'em do what they want; I don't care."

Dave was surprised. "After all your hard work . . . "

"All my hard work cost Tim his life. And for what?"

"Bart . . . it wasn't your fault."

"I tried to tell him that," Bret insisted.

Bart rose from the chair and walked over to the door. He paused for a moment and then left the jail.

"I gotta go after him," Bret explained, as he hurried to catch up with his brother. "Hey, Bart!"

The younger brother stopped in the middle of the street. "C'mon, let's take Tim home."

XXXXXXXX

An hour later the buggy, with its load of unhappy passengers, arrived at the B Bar M. "I'm gonna put everything in the barn tonight," Bret explained. "We'll take Tim up the hill tomorrow morning if that's alright with you."

Bart nodded and wearily climbed down from the buggy. "I'm goin' in to see Lily. You got everything under control?"

"Yeah, go ahead. I'll be right in."

Bart walked carefully into the house. There was no Doralice, no Maudie and Belle, or Beauregard, or Breton or Lily Beth. But sitting on the couch, all by herself, was Lily Mae. Bart went straight to her side, sitting down next to her and wrapping his arms around her. "Lily, I'm so sorry."

"I know, Mr. B. But you don't have anything to be sorry for. This wasn't your fault."

"I shouldn't have taken him with me. He'd still be alive if I'd left him here. Why didn't I do that?" Bart laid his head on Lily Mae's shoulder for a few seconds, before jerking it back erect. "Where is everyone? Why are you here all alone?"

"They went down to your brother's house. They wanted me to go with them, but I'd rather be here by myself. Besides, I knew the three of you would come home, and I wanted to be here for you. You did bring him home, didn't you?"

Before Bart could answer the front door opened and Bret stepped inside. He came to sit next to her, on the side opposite Bart. "Tim's here, Lily Mae. We'll take him up the hill tomorrow and bury him there, with Momma and Aunt Abby. They'll take care of him, and he won't be alone." Bret took Lily's hands in his, and the three of them sat there, attempting to comfort each other, until Doralice brought the children home.


	15. Peace and Quiet

Chapter 15 – Peace and Quiet

The next morning a long procession made its way up the hill. Pappy and Maude, Bret and his family, Bart, Doralice and all the kids, and every single ranch hand on the B Bar M Ranch. And last but not least, Tim Demerest.

Two of the ranch hands that knew Tim best had come up early this morning and dug a grave in the family cemetery. It took all of the men working together to lower the coffin into the ground, and then Pappy used Momma's Bible and read the Twenty-Third Psalm. The shovel was passed around, and everyone that was big enough to hold it put a shovel of dirt in the grave, until it was full. And Lily Mae put in the last shovel full of dirt, and the burial was over.

Everyone went back to Bret and Ginny's house for coffee, and to remember Tim. They hadn't been there long when Bret noticed Bart was missing, and he went outside to look for him. Bret found his younger brother in the breeding barn, watching one of this year's crop of foals. "We have to find someone to run this program now, Brother Bret. That ain't gonna be easy."

Bret nodded, and he offered with a thoughtful look on his face, "I had an idea. How about if we have your wife handle the statistical records part, and we find somebody just to run herd on the physical side? You keep sayin' she wanted to get into the business ever since we all moved out here."

"That sounds like it could work, at least for the time being. If Doralice still wants to do it."

"But that ain't what's got you out here in the barn when everybody else is inside, is it? What's on your mind, Bart?"

"You mean besides the fact that we just buried one of our own?"

Bret folded his hands across the gate to the stall and lowered his head. "I'm not forgettin' about Tim."

"Good. Because he can't be replaced."

"I lost him, too, Bart. But there ain't nothin' that either one of us can do about it, is there?" Bret's voice was short and clipped, and if you listened carefully you could hear the pain. It brought Bart up short, remembering for the first time it was Bret that insisted Tim come back to Little Bend to live with them.

"Sorry. I guess we're both hurtin'."

"Yeah, we are. So's everybody inside. Come on back in for a while, huh?"

"Bret?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you suppose happened last night?"

That gave Bret pause. "You mean at the meetin'?"

"Yeah."

"Does it really matter right now?"

Bart started walking back towards the house. "I guess not."

XXXXXXXX

It didn't seem to matter much the next day, either; nobody did anything besides tend to the horses and mourn Tim. There was an atmosphere of pure grief, and it needed time to dissipate. By the day after things began to ease back to normal, and Bart made plans to drive in to town and find out what had happened to the vote.

He stopped first at the jail. Dave was there with Jerry, and both seemed surprised to see him.

"Did you find out anything more about Hank?" Bart asked, sitting down by Dave's desk.

"The usual. Hired gun named Hank Green. Won't tell us who hired him or who else was workin' with him. Charged him with attempted murder and murder."

"Murder?"

"For Tim. It had to be Hank that shot him. I'll let you know when the trial is set so you can be here to testify. And I'll get word to you when the Governor's office assigns a prosecutor."

"Good. I appreciate it, Dave. I'm goin' down to Maude's, then I'm goin' to see Carey Milburn. What happened with the council vote, anyway?"

"I'll let Carey explain it all to you. It's too complicated for me."

Bart thought that a little odd, but he wasn't gonna push Dave to do something he wasn't comfortable doing.

His next stop was Maude's. His ribs were hurting him, so it seemed like a good place to rest for a while. He went through the batwing doors and straight back to his office; there was nobody tending bar at the moment. He left the door open and sat down behind the desk. In less than five minutes, Willie was there. "How are you, Bart?"

"I've been better, Willie, but I've been worse. I had to sit down for a while. Do you know how the council voted the other night?"

"Yes."

"Okay. What happened?"

"It's complicated."

"Do we get the train depot or not?"

"Yes. And no."

"What does that mean?"

Another face appeared at Bart's door. "Perhaps I can explain it to him better," Carey Milburn offered.

"How did you know I was here?"

"The sheriff came and got me."

Bart chuckled. "So it is complicated."

"Yes."

"I take it the train depot lost."

"Well . . . no."

"So we're gonna have a depot."

"Not exactly."

Bart sighed in frustration. "I can't stand this, Carey. Just give me the whole story."

"The vote went in the depot's favor. Then after that was decided, everyone thought better of it and decided to let Temple have the depot. They completely reversed themselves."

Still in physical pain from the beating, plus the emotional pain of losing Tim, now Bart would carry the guilt of blaming himself for the loss of the depot. "Why, Carey? Why did they change their minds?"

"I'm not sure, Bart, but I think the timing just wasn't right for most of them. We'll have a depot in here someday soon, and it won't be just a spur line depot. This country's growin' too fast for us not to. But right now, for just one more minute, Little Bend wants to stay a small town, a little hamlet without too many folks comin' in to disrupt what we've got."

Bart sighed and sat back in his chair. "And just what is it we've got, Carey? What's so precious that we don't want to give it up just yet?"

"Why, Bart, I'm surprised you don't know. Pease and quiet, Mr. Maverick. Peace and quiet."


	16. The Real World

Chapter 16 – The Real World

Two weeks went by, then three, and an official announcement was made that the town of Temple, Texas, would be awarded the funds needed to build a train depot when the spur line was constructed. Carey Milburn wrote a cover story for the Little Bend Chronicle, and a trial date was set for Hank Green. Bret Maverick was a man well-pleased by the outcome of the controversy surrounding the location of the depot, and his wife even caught him whistling in the mornings. Bart Maverick found himself becoming more and more withdrawn; his hopes for a brighter and livelier Little Bend fading with each passing day. Bret decided to remain a town council member, Bart resigned his position.

Doralice was indeed interested in learning the bookwork necessary to keep the breeding program on track, and Bart set about teaching her. There was no joy in his demeanor, however, and he left it to his brother to hire somebody to monitor the breeding itself. Maudie returned to riding in the afternoons with her father, and as the days passed she became increasingly concerned with his state of mind. Very little made him laugh or smile; all the joy seemed to have gone out of his life.

Bart couldn't come to grips with the truth that he wasn't responsible for Tim's death. No matter how hard he tried to accept the whole thing as a freak accident, he just couldn't shake the notion that Tim would still be alive if it weren't for Bart. Even his wife couldn't get his attention when they went to bed at night; once so loving and affectionate, he became cold and distant.

Hank Green's trial took two days and resulted in guilty verdicts; he was sentenced to hang, but even that form of justice brought no joy to the former gambler. Finally, one day at the beginning of spring, Simon Petry came to see his old friend. He was hopeful that enough time had passed since Tim's death for Bart to begin to regain his joie de vivre.

Doralice answered the door and lit up when she saw Simon. "Come in, Simon," she invited as she held the door open wide. "You've no idea how happy I am to see you."

"Things a little glum around here?" Simon asked, knowing full well what the answer was.

"You have no idea," she answered softly, trying to keep from bursting into tears.

"I do, actually. Bret came to see me the other day, and almost begged for my help. I'm not sure what I can do, but I'm here to try."

"Anything you can do, Simon, is better than the way it is now. I feel like we buried my husband up on that hill with Tim."

"Is it really that bad, Doralice?" Simon needed to hear it from the person that was closest to Bart.

"No, Simon, it's worse. The man I'm living with isn't the man I married all those years ago. Nothing seems to penetrate that wall of sadness he's erected around himself. Even the babies can't get through to him for more than a minute before he's back in that emotional pit he's livin' in."

"Where is he?" Simon asked since there was no sign of him in the house.

"Out in the breeding barn. That's where he spends most of his time nowadays."

"Can I go out there?"

"Of course. Just don't expect too much."

Once he got inside, it was evident why Bart liked being here. Cool and dark, the only sounds were those of new mothers and foals. It didn't take long to locate his old friend . . . a particularly striking blue roan colt had all his attention at the moment. Simon was almost on top of Bart before he was seen.

"Scare a man to death, Simon."

The doctor grinned. "You were too preoccupied to hear me coming."

The colt noticed the two men standing at the stall door and wobbled over to them. He looked to be no more than a few hours old, and the curiosity that drove him closer to them was something unusual for one so young. Bart stuck his hand out, and the colt smelled him thoroughly before his mother snorted and he quickly made his way back to her.

"That one's gonna be somethin' special."

"Really? How can you tell?"

It took a minute for Bart to answer. "The curiosity. The breeding. Just a feelin' I've got." He stood, watching the colt for another minute, before turning to face Simon. "What brings you out here, Doc?"

No sense beating around the bush. "You do, Bart."

"I don't need a doctor."

"Don't you?"

"There's nothing wrong with me, Simon." Bart was slightly disturbed; he couldn't imagine why Simon thought him in need of medical attention.

"I know several people that would argue that point with you."

"Who?

"Your wife, your children, your brother, your sister-in-law, your father, your mother-in-law . . . "

"Alright, alright, I get your point. Just what is it that seems to be the matter with me?" Now he was irritated, that everyone seemed to think him in need of a doctor, but he wanted to know why they felt that way.

"When was the last time you laughed, or smiled, or made love to your wife?"

Bart had his mouth open to give Simon an answer until he thought about Doralice. When was the last time he'd made love to his wife? He couldn't remember. He and Doralice had always been close, madly in love with each other, taking great pleasure in the physical aspects of their love. And yet . . . he didn't know when he'd kissed her last, or touched her last, or just held her in his arms. It hadn't crossed his mind since . . .

"Since Tim died?" Simon finished the thought. The answer was written all over Bart's face, and Simon was correct. Not since Tim died.

"But that . . . that was months ago."

Simon nodded. "That's right. You've been this way for months."

"I didn't realize . . . it's my fault that Tim's dead. All this time, he could have been here with us, and he's not. And I'm to blame."

"Why, Bart? Why are you to blame?"

"Because I shouldn't have taken Tim into town that day."

Simon grabbed Bart by the shoulder and turned his friend so they were facing each other. "Do you remember Dave Parker telling Tim to go get Willie and Jerry and have them meet him at the LB Bar?"

"Yeah, sure."

"And what else did he tell Tim?"

"I don't . . . I don't . . . nothin'. He told him nothin'."

"Yes, he did. He told Tim to stay inside the jail until they came to get him. Didn't he?"

"He did? Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. And Tim didn't do it, did he?"

Bart thought back to that day. He'd forgotten, completely forgotten. Parker HAD told Tim to stay inside. And Tim . . . hadn't listened. All this time . . . all the months that Bart had blamed himself for Tim's death. It slowly dawned on him that the young man had been just as responsible as he was . . . maybe more.

Simon could see the realization hit Bart by the look on his face. The doctor felt guilty that he hadn't thought to do something before so much time had passed, but he'd only seen Maverick once or twice since the boy's death. It had taken a long discussion with Bret to come to the conclusion that the gambler had fallen into a deep depression. And Simon knew it was going to take more than one conversation for Bart to recover from his self-imposed guilt. Just from the change that had occurred in the last few minutes, however, there was no doubt in his mind that recovery had already begun.

"It . . . it wasn't my fault, was it?"

Simon turned Bart back to the new blue roan colt. "Not any more than it's his. It's a brand new day, Bart, and it's time to forgive yourself. And think about all the people you've got that love you. And that little fellow in the stall that's gonna depend on you. He needs you to be Bart Maverick, too, and not some sad, depressed version of him. I know a lot of people that would be thrilled to have you back, starting with the woman waiting inside for you. Think you can do that?"

Bart stared at the colt, then looked at Simon. And for the first time in months, he smiled. "I think I can try, Simon. I think I can try."

TBC


	17. Blood on the Tracks

Chapter 17 – Blood on the Tracks

Little Boy, as the blue roan colt was named, turned out to be not so little after all. And Bart had been right about him, he was indeed something special. Maverick hadn't run across a horse like this since . . . well, since Noble. And let there be no doubt about it, Little Boy was strictly a one man horse, that man being Bart Maverick. There was just something about the two together that made everybody else take notice.

Little Boy was three-quarters Arabian, and had the speed of his sire but the endurance of his mustang ancestors. Bart raised and trained him and rode him. It almost seemed like Little Boy channeled Noble's personality and temperament . . . he even loved apples and ate them the same way, in one big bite.

Little Boy was vital in helping Bart get back to being himself after Tim Demerest' death. There were even some that said Little Boy played a bigger part than his brother, but Bart knew that wasn't true. It was some time after Simon's visit that the brothers had a talk about the train depot that was up for grabs, and ultimately was erected in Temple. That depot was closed when the spur line proved too expensive to maintain, and a new one was built in later years when the Southern Pacific Railroad came thru Little Bend. Bart was working with Little Boy; it was months after the depot vote had gone down to defeat, but they'd never discussed it after Tim was killed. Now seemed as good a time as any. "Why were you so deadset against the depot bein' built in Little Bend?" Bart asked out of curiosity.

"Well, to tell you the truth, Bart, I didn't want to give up the peace and quiet we have around here. When Ginny and me moved back to Little Bend, I wanted to be left alone. I didn't want to be bothered with a lot of rowdy strangers; I just wanted to spend time with my family. You know what happens when a lot of new folks show up in town. And I didn't think Little Bend was ready for that yet. Now there's talk that somewhere in the not too distant future, Southern Pacific is gonna run a line through here, and a brand new depot goes with it. It wasn't that I didn't want a depot, it's just that I didn't want one right now. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, I guess so. I just wanted the town to grow and continue to expand; I didn't think about what that would do to our peaceful little city. Obviously we weren't ready, since the depot was rejected. You were probably right that now wasn't the best time for it to happen." The almost fully-grown colt took that as his cue to stop and come over to see just what Bart was up to. He put his head down and nudged the man training him, and Bart began laughing. "He knows I've got that apple, don't you, Little Boy?"

"Sure is good to see you laugh again, Brother Bart, even if it takes a loco cow pony to make it happen."

The colt raised his head and swiveled back his ears, having made up his mind to take a bite out of Bret. "See, what did I tell you? Loco. Don't you ever attract a normal horse?"

"I guess not," Bart answered. "I guess I don't attract a normal anything."

"Probably not," his brother agreed with him. And life went on.

The End


End file.
